


Eve of Destruction

by TheDeadlyViper



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angry Bucky Barnes, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-07 22:57:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13445178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDeadlyViper/pseuds/TheDeadlyViper
Summary: I was actually going to re-write this, but I decided to re-post it as is as I got some direction with it. So yeah. Vietnam Era Captain America meets a young war dissenter. In which Steve is only frozen up until the eve of the Vietnam conflict.





	1. Chapter 1

Steve Rogers’ orders had been made very clear. He and the rest of his unit were to stay several miles on the back roads outside of the village. The air command was going to clear the area directly ahead of them. This was the first, but not last time that Steve came to understand what “clear” the area really meant.  
All at once, the sky is red and orange and explosive as if it were sunset during the middle of the afternoon. Smoke and fire are exploding in front of everything. Steve is yelling at the rest of the Commandos to,  
“Stay down!” Because it’s hard enough to see in the haze of smoke and chaos and there are still some pops of gunfire going off. The fire keeps spreading in front of them, eating up all the green and turning everything into black char as he and the rest of his men stay pressed belly down into the ravine next to the beaten dirt path and they are all coughing and choking as the fire spreads and spreads. The gunfire slows, becomes more intermittent. And when it’s finally stopped, Steve gets to his feet and indicates that the others should too.  
As they approach the village, it’s not the sound of gunfire that greets them. It’s the screaming. Infants wailing. And the screaming. The screaming is so loud it rings in Steve’s ears. He sees a shadow streak across his line of vision. He can’t even tell if it’s male or female. Only that it it’s charred just as black as the surrounding landscape.The screaming goes on and on.  
Steve wakes up for a second, not knowing where he is and he’s gasping for breath and soaked to the bone in sweat. And then he remembers. He’s in the 18th Surgical in Pleiku. Not, of course, because he himself is injured, but because of his staunch refusal to push any further until he’s able to get in contact with General Westmoreland.  
Steve lights a cigarette with shaking hands as he waits for the General to grace him with his presence and Christ, he’d made it through one war and one conflict and never picked up the habit, until now. In fact a lot of things were different now. This Vietnam ordeal wasn’t even a proper war.. Because you couldn’t really call it war when there was no fighting back. This was complete and total annihilation, the likes of which Steve Rogers a.k.a. Captain America has never seen prior.  
He’s seen plenty of shell shock and broken bodies, especially during his first war. The second World War. But he’d never seen so many broken minds as now. In fact, it had only taken a couple of the Howling Commandos first napalmed villages for Steve’s mind to start to slip just as bad as everyone else’s. The nightmares were horrific. And so far the casualty count of their own forces was much lower and an incredibly high amount of damage done was being caused by friendly fire. Scared soldiers shooting at each other in all the confusion because the enemies were fighting guerilla-style and it was hard to see them coming. Paranoia ran deep.  
Steve himself was jumpier than he’d ever been in his life. On top of all this, as if things couldn’t get any worse, what Steve had to work with was kids. Almost all of the original Howlies were too old and so what he was left with were a pack of scared kids who were by no means ready for this. Kids who hadn’t chosen this out of a duty of patriotism but would rather be back at school studying for Midterms. It was all too much. After nearly four years, Steve just needed a fucking break. He’d never wished so hard that he’d never been given that damn serum. If he hadn’t allowed himself to be guinea pigged for the U.S. Army. That he could quit. Just up and quit. The best he could do was beg for an audience with the acting general.  
When he pleads his case to Westmoreland, the famous general is looking at him with a combination somewhere between pity and disgust.  
“Rogers, you stand a symbol to the American people. If you’re seen as running away from conflict…” He’s saying and Steve is instantly furious.  
“Christ’s sake! I’m not running away!” He snaps. “It’s just a break! I just need a fucking break! Doesn’t being an American symbol count for anything?!”  
“It stands for everything.” The general replies cooly. “That’s what we need you to remain active duty until…”  
“Until when? Until I break completely?!” Steve demands and slams a fist down, shaking the table in front of him. “Look at my hands!” He lifts that same fists and tries to hold it straight and flat out, but tremors just rip through his nerves, making it shaky. The general says something about how he’d never needed a break and it’s on the very tip of Steve’s tongue to say, ‘Yeah. Well. I’ve never had to watch innocent civilians being murdered in such horrific ways up close before. Either.’ But instead he sucks in a breath. “Listen. I’m no good to you. To anyone. The way I am now. I need a chance to clear my head.” After that, they barter. From two months, two to three, then finally up to four and that’s the furthest that Steve can push. But it’s something. And he’s grateful for it by the time he’s boarding a plane headed back to Brooklyn.  
He’s nervous on the plane. He’s seen the newspaper headlines. He knows he’s not exactly a popular figure in the States right now. Captain America who was once a war hero is now viewed mostly as a symbol of aimless war ambition. American patriotism turned American discontent. Even though, they’d tried to keep his arrival secret, no doubt, some sources would leak.  
He wasn’t disappointed. After he deboarded the plane and he’s making his way to the front of the airport, there was a group, however small, of protestors waiting for him. There are, of course, police with riot gear standing between him and the protestors, but he does catch the eye of a guy standing in the front that appears to be their ring leader. He’s tall and bulky with dark hair that falls in front of his eyes and might have even been handsome, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was currently yelling out that Steve was, ‘A murderer!’ Steve might even have been able to pass that up if it hadn’t been for the hard thump aimed squarely at his side and he knew immediately it was that same ring leader that had somehow thrown it. He pauses and looks down at the ground and it’s a can of some sort rolling away and Steve snaps. He stomps over to police, gets as close as he can to the guy.  
“You’re lucky I don’t make you eat that!” Steve shouts at him around a plexiglass shield.  
“Oh yeah?” The guy tosses his hair away from his eyes. “Go ahead, Captain America. Do it. Show us what our brave war hero is really like!” Steve can’t calm down and he’s engaging in a kind of dance with the police, trying to get around them. He didn’t used to be so combustive. Finally after several minutes of half-hearted pushing, he grits his teeth and turns to storm off.  
Even after several days home in his old Brooklyn apartment, Steve still can’t relax or rest. He still can’t sleep at night and he still shakes all the time. Part of it, he knows, is that he’s got a speaking engagement coming up in another couple of days. It was the last thing he wanted right now, but that was part of a condition of his furlough. He was to give a big speech. Try to persuade the civilians to their war effort. Something he used to be so good at. And something he just knew would not go over well right now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets up close and personal with the anti-war protesters.

It was to be on a Saturday afternoon in Central Park. There are other speakers of course, but Captain America is to be the highlight of the whole thing. He sits in his chair behind the podium, waiting and not listening and tries not to look as sullen as he feels. He can’t help but feel like he’s going to get up there just to have more crap thrown at him because the protesters are back and not surprisingly, they are filled out in the first couple of rows. This had been a much more heavily advertised event and so he’d more or less expected that, but that didn’t mean he had to be thrilled about it.  
He’s so busy zoning out and not listening that he almost misses his cue and if wasn’t so quiet, he might have continued missing it. Finally he draws himself up to rather weak applause and goes over to a deliver a speech he hadn’t even written. Almost immediately, within the first two sentences, he freezes. That same guy, the one from the airport, is right dead center in the second row. As soon as they lock eyes, the man smirks with such arrogance that Steve is halfway tempted to jump off the stage right then and there and beat his ass himself. But that definitely wouldn’t have been a good publicity move. Instead, he forces himself to go on.  
It’s the most cliche, recycled speech Steve has ever made in his life. Lots of stuff about needing to, ‘Work together to fight the common enemy.’ and ‘standing together as brothers and sisters to fight communism’ and a bunch of other crap he hardly believes in anymore. He’s not even to the end when he can see the dissidents are starting to become agitated. They’re starting to yell out random stuff about ending the violence and Steve’s arch enemy with the good hair shouts out, ‘How many more should we kill, Cap?!’ There’s more shouting and Steve is on the verge of just yelling for them all to be quiet because he can feel the thrum of energy building and it’s not good energy. Suddenly, he doesn’t know whose started it first, but the protesters are pushing forward against the couple of lines of police officers that guard the stage and the cops are pushing back and all the volume kicks up a notch. And then in the middle of all that madness, there’s an explosion of what Steve immediately recognizes as tear gas. Steve jumps down and it’s becoming hard to see as there are a few more popping of cannisters. He draws his arm over his nose and mouth in an effort to not breathe it in.  
Suddenly he watches as the trouble maker goes down in between the crush of bodies. Steve shoves forward, using his brute strength to push the throng backward and gets low so he can grab the guy’s arm and yank him up to his feet before he’s trampled. He gets the guy up and pushes through to his side so he can guide him out of the thick of it. He leads, squeezing through the crowd and never breaks his grip from the other guy’s arm. Finally, after what feels like twenty minutes, even though it’d probably been closer to six or seven, Steve gets them through on the side and keeps dragging him until they are a very good distance away.  
Finally, they both collapse onto their backs in the grass, coughing and gasping with tears streaming down their red faces. Steve sits up after a while and rubs his wet face on his sleeve once he’s regained his breath and he’s surprised when his stalker sits up too, apparently having recovered himself.  
“Wow.” He says. “I don’t know what to say.”  
“Might just start with thank you’.” Steve mutters. The guy looks over at him and once again, Steve is very unfortunately struck by his good features.  
“Yeah. Let’s go with that. Thank you.” He says without a hint of the arrogance Steve was expecting.  
“Sure.” Steve says and he does have a bite of sarcasm in it.  
“Seriously. Thank you. I really appreciate it.” The guy says as he reaches out to touch the arm that’s closest to him. Steve doesn’t move his arm or anything, he just goes quiet for awhile as he stares back over his shoulder at the continuing fight. It looks like it’s slowing down though as so many of the protesters are unable to see, unable to breathe. Steve finally meets the guy’s gaze again.  
“Why are you doing this?” He asks. He figures the guy at least owes him that much of an explanation after he’d pretty much saved his ass from being trampled. “I mean, why me? In particular?” The guy releases Steve’s arms and shrugs.  
“Hey, man. I don’t know what you think but it’s not - look. I’m not part of some shadowy anti-war conspiracy group. If that’s what you think. I work alone and I don’t - this stuff is going on everywhere. Okay? I didn’t organize it. I just heard about it and showed up.” He explains haltingly.  
“Oh yeah?” Steve asks. “That’s pretty convenient. Considering you knew when I was flying in.” Now the arrogance comes back. The guy rolls his eyes at him.  
“It wasn’t that big of a secret.” He says. “Lots of people knew, but most of ‘em were just too chicken shit to show up ‘cause they were afraid of getting arrested.” Well, that slows Steve’s temper for a minute at least towards this guy. No less toward the higher ups of the U.S. Military for not being able to at least give him a day of privacy.  
“Hey. I really am sorry. I get it, okay?” The guy says as he sweeps the dark hair that seems to be eternally falling in his eyes back a bit. “Do your duty. Patriotism and all that other shit.”  
“Yeah. Sure.” Steve says even though he’s mostly checked out of the conversation already.  
“No. Really. I do.” The guy rolls up his sleeve and shows Steve the inside of his arm where he has a tattoo of the skull with the crossed guns and a little above that the Sergeant insignia. Steve leans back and gives a whistle.  
“You too? Sergeant huh?” He asks. The guy smirks.  
“Sir, yes sir.” He says. “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes at your service.” He gives pause. “But you can call me Bucky.”  
“Bucky it is then.” Steve replies. “Steve Rogers.” He returns. Bucky reaches into his pocket to shake out a pack of cigarettes and offers one to Steve, which, the blonde reluctantly takes and they sit in silence just smoking for a minute.  
“So now that you know I’m not exactly your mortal enemy.” Bucky begins by breaking the silence. “How’s about you lettin’ me thank you properly? I could...make you dinner?” Steve actually snorts, biting back laughter. Because he takes one look at the guy and knows with absolute certainty that he’s being hit on.  
“Seriously? Now you’re asking me out?” He asks. Bucky holds his gaze unwaveringly.  
“Doesn’t have to be a date. Unless you want it to be.” He says and Steve has to admit, this guy has some pair to be asking him out after throwing a can of lima beans at him. Among other things. But it’s...kind of refreshing actually. The guy is confident, but not overly so, he obviously has zero fear. And Steve has to admit, he’s cute and it’s not like he can really afford to pass up dates. Not when his time here in the good ole US of A is sorely limited. He sighs.  
“Fine.” He says. Bucky sticks what remains of his cigarette in the corner of his mouth and asks for Steve’s arm. Withdrawing a pen, he writes down his address on Steve’s inner arm. Steve reads it and laughs again. It’s really not that far from him. It’s a Brooklyn address too.  
“You know what? You’re nuts.” Steve can’t help saying as he gets up and dusting himself off. Bucky just grins as he gets up too.  
“So I’ve been told multiple times.” He says. “7 o’clock, Cap. Don’t be late.” And that’s it, pretty soon Bucky is turning around and walking away.  
Steve follows the instructions and arrives on the dot. He’s got himself all dressed up in slacks, button down and jacket which is, admittedly a little dated, but at his age he figured he should get a pass on that. He also brings a six pack with him which is basically the male equivalent of flowers. Bucky is dressed much more casually in tight knit shirt and slacks and Steve notices immediately that he’s pretty jacked.  
“Hi.” He greets, holding the door open. “Oh. Gifts?” Steve hands over the beer as he slides by.  
“Yeah. It...uh. Doesn’t do anything for me, but I thought you might like it.” Steve says as he glances around. “Nice place.” He says sincerely. It’s bigger than his and it’s a nicer neighborhood which, is probably fair considering that Steve hasn’t actually lived in his apartment for years.  
“Thanks.” Bucky is saying from the kitchen after he’s gotten Steve settled at the table. “Now, I have to be honest. When I said I’d make you dinner? I actually meant buy. I don’t actually cook.” He comes out of the kitchen with a several large pizza boxes and plates that he carefully sets down.  
“Whew. And you made it through ‘Nam?” He asks as he reaches over for a couple of slices. In his four years, his unit had sometimes had to go days or even weeks without rations. Which basically meant, doing the best they could on an open fire with what they had.  
“Hell yeah.” Bucky smirks. “I’m not a chef. I’m a soldier.” They fall into a bit of a silence while they eat.  
“So uh, how’d you get into all this stuff?” Steve asks after the lull.  
“What? The protest stuff?” Bucky asks. Steve nods. “I don’t know. This is going to sound just awful, but I guess I was just bored. When I got back, I mean. I always wanted to do something that mattered. But a lot of it was...well...what now? You know, how when you get back and it’s just like there’s so much time to fill?” Steve considers this and shrugs.  
“I wouldn’t know. Actually.” He says. “I’ve been going four years straight. Not a lot of down time.” Bucky nearly chokes on his beer as he’s bringing it to his mouth and sets it down hard.  
“Holy shit.” He mutters. “Four years? Non-stop?” Steve nods.  
“Wow.” Bucky says and he suddenly wants that sip of beer now. “That’s ...wow.” The reaction makes Steve both uncomfortable and relaxed at once and he reaches a hand up to the back of his neck.  
“Yeah. It’s uh. Been tough.” He says. “Guess that’s what I get for being some kind of American hero.” He says and the last part is so passive-agressive that not even Bucky can laugh at it. “You know. I can probably go on forever. I mean, physically. It’s just -”  
“Mentally.” Bucky interrupts. “Mentally you can only hold it together so long.”  
“Right. Exactly.” Steve gives a sigh. “Physically I’m fine. Better than fine. But after awhile, you just start to feel like the whole world’s gone crazy and you’re not sure why you’re doing it anymore and maybe you’re crazy too.” Bucky doesn’t know what to say to that. He knows the feeling? He does. He reaches over and squeezes Steve’s hand briefly.  
“Everyone goes a little crazy sometimes.” He finally settles on saying.  
“Yeah. S’pose so.” The blonde says and he’s looking more like, beyond Bucky. Bucky recognizes the vaguely spaced out look as someone who is, granted, traumatized but still very much there and whole somehow. He doesn’t have that empty, soulless stare that the too far gone have. But he also has that undercurrent of frantic tension beneath the surface. He would recognize that in himself even. Steve shakes himself out of it and fixates on Bucky again.  
“If you don’t mind my asking, how’d you get out?” He asks.  
“I - uh - got shot.” Bucky says and while that isn’t precisely the whole truth, he doesn’t want to raise any more suspicion since Steve is already looking at him a little strangely. “It um - wasn’t bad. It healed perfectly. Hardly even a scar.” He adds and then Steve thinks he looks so uncomfortable with the subject that he rapidly changes it. They take their beers to the sofa in the living room area and chat about lighter things. Eventually, Bucky smiles in a flirty way and scoots a little closer. Okay. A lot closer. He looks over at Steve expectantly and Steve very much takes the hint and sets his drink down. He slides his arm around Bucky and leans over to kiss him. Bucky lets Steve take complete control, letting him deepen the kiss when he feels comfortable. But things get heated pretty fast. Pretty soon Bucky is kissing at Steve’s neck and throat, nipping gently. They spend a solid fifteen making out before Steve finally pulls away to catch his breath.  
“Hey. It’s uh - it’s getting pretty late.” He says as if that isn’t the lamest excuse on the planet. Bucky just stares at him until Steve gives up. “Okay. Fine. It’s just I like to take it slow. This is nice. But I’m an old fashioned kinda guy. That’s all.” And well, Steve leaves out the part about how short-lived his furlough is and how he neither wants to get too attached to someone or have someone get too attached to him in that time. To his surprise, Bucky accepts that one.  
“Makes sense.” He agrees. “Well. We don’t have to go too far.” He says. They make out for another half hour or so, until Steve is starting to form reddish marks all along the side of his neck. And then Steve really does have to go home. Because if he doesn’t he’s afraid he’s not going to be able to stick to his word about taking it slow and that would make him a big, fat liar so. No.  
There’s quite a lingering goodbye kiss though. Bucky has his arms looped around Steve and he asks when they could see each other again. Steve asks him if he’s free the very next night. After all, he doesn’t have time on his side. That makes Bucky laugh but, yes, he is free. (Or he’d damn well make himself free) and Steve suggests maybe Bucky come over to his place? He writes his own address on Bucky’s arm and smirks. Steve Rogers has maybe been out of the dating loop for awhile, but he can still flirt like a champ. One last kiss on the cheek and he’s off.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky draw closer.

Steve Rogers can cook. He can cook very well thanks very much. It was one of the things that kind of soothed him. Plus, he loves to eat. Like. A lot. So after bouncing around some ideas, he comes up with sticking with the Italian theme and makes a traditional lasagna with Béchamel sauce. Bucky has brought Steve his own gift. This time instead of beer, it’s a bottle of Russian vodka.   
“You said beer didn’t do it for you so…” He shrugs. Steve smiles. He doesn’t need to go rubbing it in that vodka wasn’t going to work either. His metabolism just ate up alcohol and burned straight through it. He takes the bottle with a, ‘thank you.’ Besides, he thinks he wouldn’t mind if Bucky gets a little tipsy off the stuff.   
“Um. Wow. That’s amazing.” Bucky says as soon as he’s tasted the very first bite. Steve beams.   
“Thanks. I learned in Italy. I want to say maybe 1942ish?”   
“You mean during the Big one?” Bucky asks. Steve nods with a slight ‘hm’ noise. The food is fantastic and yet, that gives Bucky pause.   
“So uh...what was that like?” He asks. Steve thinks about it for a minute.   
“Cold.” He shivers and that makes Bucky laugh.   
“That’s it?” He asks. “Just...cold?” Steve is quiet again.   
“Okay. Wait. Stay here. I wanna show you something.” He says and gets up from the table and is gone for a moment and he returns with a large sketchpad. He carefully hands it over to Bucky to peruse. Often Steve found, that words weren’t quite what he needed. Drawing had always been a great deal easier for him. Most of the drawings are charcoal renderings. Landscapes with maybe just a few people or animals dotting the background. It was everywhere. From their very own New York, To Nice to Sicily and finally the cold beauty of the Alps. Everything is labeled neatly. The time and place and signature. Immediately Bucky understands what he’s looking at is Steve’s visual passport. Of all the places he has been.  
“These are incredible.” He breathes as takes his time studying each one. But the sketches end abruptly at 1945. He doesn’t have to ask to know why and that makes Bucky feel wistful and sad. That a man that could see the beauty in all these places and things and now? Now there’s nothing. Steve, for his part of it is glad to let Bucky look through his sketchpad. He doesn’t show a great many people and it isn’t because he minds. It’s just that no one ever asks. What men and women alike always want from him is war stories. Stories of courage and bravery and of course, victory. And Steve had gotten very good at telling them. He’d had to. But those stories? They were a myth. Just like the pulp stuff in the books and that awful radio show. Captain America was a myth.   
So Steve is glad to pour shots of the vodka while Bucky looks through the sketches. When he’s finished, he hands it back and tips back a third shot in a row. Steve keeps up because it may as well have been water. Strongly flavored water, but water just the same. For a minute, Steve worries because Bucky won’t look at him. He reaches out slowly to touch his shoulder. It’s only when he finally turns that Steve realizes it’s because he’s blinking back tears.   
“Bucky? What - what’s wrong?” He asks, chewing his lower lip. Bucky takes a steadying breath and stands up, pushing his chair in and Steve does the same and then Bucky’s wrapping his arms around Steve, wanting to draw that flame closer, to cradle it and ignite it. He takes it as his personal mission. He’s kissing Steve fiercely, pulling him ever closer and he can hear Steve’s heart pounding against his own. This time, Steve does not pull away. Instead, he lifts Bucky up with considerable strength and takes him to his bedroom, setting him gingerly in the middle of his bed and he moves up toward him to straddle one of his knees.   
“Do you...wanna stay?” He asks softly, against Bucky’s skin. Bucky’s only response is a soft moan as he braces his hands against Steve’s broad shoulders and pushes him further down his body. Steve laughs as he slides up Bucky’s shirt so he can draw a line from his chest down to the line of his belt with his tongue. He lifts his head momentarily to pull his own shirt over his head as he helps Bucky work out of his and then he leans down and snaps his belt loose. Bucky wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this. To say that Steve Rogers had deft fingers and a grace that was ungodly would have been an understatement. He had, apparently, picked up quite a few tricks in his day.   
But that’s pretty much where the romance novel comparisons end. Because the whole thing is over in about ten minutes. Bucky sits up and fumbles around in his pants pocket for a cigarette and match and he takes a couple puffs and passes it over to Steve.   
“Uhm. So. It’s - it’s been awhile okay?” He says. Bucky shrugs as he exhales a cloud of smoke. For once, he keeps his smart mouth in check.   
“Yeah. I get it. Just….” He glances over. “Let me know as soon as you’re ready for a round two.” And his grin can only be described as devious. Steve seems to consider this for a moment, before he takes a careful peek underneath the sheet that covers his lower half. He returns the grin.   
“Well. Looks like I’m ready when you are.” He says and Bucky can’t put his cigarette out fast enough. Steve does better the second time. And the third time he really gives it everything’s he’s got, until Bucky is clawing down his back and clinging to him before he finishes. By the time they wrap it up, they are both panting, sweaty messes. It takes him a few minutes but then he rolls onto his side toward Bucky and runs his knuckles lightly down Bucky’s perfect jawline.   
“You are. Amazing.” Steve tells him in a voice full of wonder. In 46 years, he had never, ever met someone that could keep his pace. And he’d definitely never met anyone who wore him out first. But there was James “Bucky” Barnes in all his glory, looking maybe slightly flustered, but also like maybe he could go again at any minute. It was no contest. This was easily the most fulfilling and gratifying sex he’d had in his entire life.   
“Shut up.” Bucky replies, but he’s clearly kind of pleased with himself too. He’s laid out on his back with another cigarette in his hand, but only his second of the night and that really wasn’t so bad. But the post-sex cigarette was an absolute must for him. He passes over the cigarette while Steve is still leaning on his elbow, studying him.   
“So was it good for -” He begins and then Bucky sits up.   
“Shut up! Don’t you dare finish that sentence!” He warns. And Steve makes a noise that might have been, ‘you’ only being sucked in backward with his breath. Bucky snatches his cigarette back and takes the last few drags before putting it out. Steve puts his arm around Bucky’s waist again, giving a small sigh of contentment and decides to very wisely just keep his mouth shut then. Until a thought occurs to him and he jolts upright so he can lean back with his back against the headboard next to Bucky. He runs a hand through his already mused blonde hair.   
“Uh. Hey I just. I forgot to tell you something. I’m sorry I - “   
“What?” Bucky asks, concerned. Steve lets out a sigh of defeat and lets his head thump softly against the wall behind him.  
“Thing is. I’m not exactly out just yet. I mean.” He’s stammering.“I gotta go back.” Bucky is still for a minute before he returns the sigh as he leans against Steve’s bare shoulder.   
“Oh. Well. How long do you have?” He finally asks. He hooks his finger inside the chain of Steve’s dog tags and twirls it a bit around his finger. Like maybe if he kept going he could choke him with it and he’s not entirely sure he won’t.   
“Not long. Four months. M’sorry. Shit. I wasn’t thinkin’ straight.” Steve mumbles. Bucky stays where he is.   
“Okay.” He says quietly.   
“You’re not mad?” Steve asks.   
“No.” Bucky is accustomed to this. People came and went like waiters in the restaurant that was your life. And then Steve is sliding back underneath the sheet and reaching up for Bucky.  
“Stay. Okay? Please.” Bucky slides down next to him.   
“Okay.”   
Steve wakes up in the darkness, sweaty and gasping and crawling toward the edge of the bed and the movement wakes Bucky up. Steve is sitting up on the edge of the bed with his palms pressed tight against his eyes and his shoulders shake with some deeply repressed emotion. When Bucky reaches over to touch him, he jumps about five feet in the air. He looks over his shoulder.  
“Jesus Christ.” He says, clutching dramatically at his chest. “You scared the shit outta me.”   
“Sorry.” Bucky whispers. He gets up so he can be next to Steve and runs a hand down his back.   
“Bad dreams?” He asks.   
“Yeah.” Steve rasps. “Real bad.” Bucky nods.  
“I get ‘em too.” He says. Steve swipes a hand over his watering eyes.  
“I’m just so...so...fuckin’ tired.” He moans. Bucky is quiet for a bit.  
“You don’t have to go back.” He says at last. Steve gives a short bark of a laugh.  
“Yeah. I do.”   
“You could run. We could run.” Bucky suggests. Steve just shakes his head.  
“Where should I run, Buck?” He asks.   
“Canada?” Bucky bites his lip. “Or anywhere.” Steve snorts.  
“There’s not a place I can go where they won’t find me. And if they don’t? Someone else will.” He says and rubs at his shoulder absently. “I used to think I was a hero.” God those days seemed so far off now. “But I’m not. I’m a goddamn weapon.” Bucky thinks quickly.  
“I could go with you?” Steve looks over at him quickly.   
“I thought you couldn’t cause -” He says until Bucky cuts him off.  
“That’s not exactly accurate…”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve are back on the same side.

“You did WHAT?!” Steve yells so loudly that it had probably woken half of Brooklyn. “Oh god! Please tell me you’re joking. You’re joking, right?” Oh god.” He’s stalking back and forth in a complete panic. “Shit. Shit!! I’m in so much trouble. We’re in so much trouble.” He actually has to double over because he’s on the verge of hyperventilating. Bucky jumps up and goes over to him.  
“Hey. Calm down.” He says. Steve gives a gasp and straightens up.  
“Calm down? Calm down?!” He yelps. “Do you have ANY clue what they’re gonna do to you? To me! Oh my god. I’m harboring a defector.”   
“Well that’s not actually -” Bucky begins to say and Steve just hollers.  
“I don’t care what you call it! I call it we’re going to jail! We’re gonna get court martialed. We’re gonna get arrested.” He hunches back over, gasping again. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me something like that?” He spits.   
Bucky rolls his eyes.  
“Yeah. I tell everyone. That’s why I’ve been so successful at hiding.” He says caustically.   
“I have my reasons.” He says. Steve straightens up again.   
“Everyone has reasons!” He says as he’s turning on Bucky. “You didn’t have to take me down with you!”   
“I’m not! I won’t!” Bucky holds his hands up. “I’ll give myself up.” Steve gives a snort.  
“Yeah! Sure, they love that. Just waltz back in there and tell ‘em you’re sorry and -”   
“Lots of people go awol.” Bucky says. “Listen. I couldn’t take it anymore. They did a lot of weird shit to me over there.” Steve eyes him with suspicion.  
“Like what?” Bucky shakes his head.  
“Nevermind. Can’t you pull any strings?” He asks. Steve scoffs.  
“No! No way! Don’t you dare get me sucked up in your mess!” He snaps.   
“Just stop okay? Just listen.” Bucky waits for Steve to grow quiet again. “You can say you found me out. You caught me. And now you’re turning me in. And that I’ll re-enlist so long as I’m under your command.” Steve gives a sigh.   
“You know they’ll probably just wait and lock you up later?” He says. Bucky nods.  
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Steve goes back to sit down on the edge of the bed, mind racing. Finally glances up.  
“You a good shot?” He asks.   
“Oh you have no idea.” Bucky says with a grin.   
Bucky stands in Steve’s living room the following day, chain smoking and trying very hard not to listen to the conversation happening in the kitchen. He hears Steve’s voice rising and falling. Bucky could scarcely believe he was doing this. He didn’t think there was anyone or anything that could make him go back to that hell hole of war zone. Apparently, he’d found that person in Steve Rogers. Then again, maybe he’d just been waiting to be caught? Even he knows he can’t run forever.   
Steve looks tense when he comes out of the kitchen.  
“Well?” Bucky bites his tongue and holds his breath.   
“Well. Welcome back to the U.S. Army, Sergeant Barnes.” Steve says and Bucky nearly passes out when he’s able to breathe again. “You still gotta fill out some paperwork. Sign a statement. All of that.” Bucky just nods.  
“Thanks. Thank you, Steve.” He says.   
“Don’t thank me just yet.” He mutters.   
Steve has never seen anyone in his life to show less fear than the man next to him. He’s just sitting there snapping his gum and staring out the side of the helicopter at the city of Saigon and the enormous DAO compound underneath with something like maybe curiosity. He turns and he’s going to say something to Steve, but he stops because Steve’s face is white as a sheet.  
“You okay?” He yells over the noise. Steve just grits his teeth and gives him a thumbs up. Even though Steve’s body is pretty much a fortress now, he still hasn’t quite gotten over the motion sickness he’d had since he was a kid. He’s usually okay at takeoff and en-route, but the landings get him every time. It reminds him distinctly of the drops on the roller coaster on Coney Island. That ride hadn’t gone well either.   
They take two steps onto solid ground and then Steve stops and holds up a finger so he can heave his guts out.   
“God. Sorry.” Steve mutters as he stands up and swipes his sleeve across his mouth. “Hate helicopters.” Bucky gives a little snicker. Sometimes, it was just way too easy to forget that this guy was America’s Great Hero.   
“S’okay.” He says. “Feel better?” Steve nods.   
They navigate their way to catch up with Steve’s unit and while Steve checks in to see which soldiers are still there and which had been injured and replaced and Bucky goes to watch some of the scattered men that are playing at target practice. When Steve gets back, the other guys are just standing around watching Bucky.   
“Hey Cap, check out Sergeant Barnes.” One of them says as Steve approaches. They’ve got a couple of crushed beer cans set up on the sandbag barrier and Bucky hits all three and Steve figures he’s gotta be at least 45 yards back. Bucky replaces his sidearm and approaches Steve, grinning.  
“Told you I was a good shot.” He says, popping his gum. Steve swallows and he’s pretty sure his face was turning red and his pants suddenly felt a little bit too tight.   
Steve and Bucky even manage to bunk together in the same strongback tent with eight others. Although that does mean their romantic contact will be severely limited. They do manage to plunk down their cots close enough that they could touch hands. Not that it would have been a shock to anyone. The whole, ‘Captain America is gay’ rumor had been flying around for literal decades. It was just that nobody had ever once had the balls to walk up and ask him and that included his superiors. Everyone was too damn afraid of getting a star spangled shield to the face.   
Steve also comes to learn more about Bucky than he ever could have on a million dates in a very short period of time. Besides being amazing in bed, and an incredible marksman, he learns he’s also good at poker. This, Steve learns second-hand having never watched him play himself and that’s because the guys tend to bet things like: bullets, drugs and Playboy magazines. And so while Steve would never put a stop to it, he just kind of pretends not to see it. And immediately, no one minds playing with Bucky because apparently Bucky always gives back what he wins. He gives away bullets because he’s confident enough that he doesn’t need anymore than what he’s got. He doesn’t take drugs and he (obviously) doesn’t give a shit about porno mags. He plays, he tells Steve, because he likes games.   
It only takes a little over a week and then Steve’s unit is assigned to guard the Minh Than Road to cut the supply line. Steve hates these kinds of field missions the most. It means wandering around out in the open for weeks on end, just waiting to be attacked. He’d take a battle over that any day.   
This time, Bucky has the foresight to make sure that Steve is sitting the closest to the doors of the UH-1 helicopter that will drop them in An Loc. And he’s immensely glad that he had because Steve pretty much throws up the entire way, so much so that Bucky has to hold onto the straps of his rucksack to keep him from falling out. Steve’s nervous and anxiety always makes his motion sickness worse. Bucky doesn’t want to get too touchy-feely, but he does reach over to give Steve’s hand a brief squeeze and Steve gives him a pained smile in return.   
When they land on solid ground, Steve takes out his canteen and takes a drink and makes a face like death warmed over and is obviously struggling to keep it from coming back up. It’s oppressively hot and he knows he needs fluids but everyone knew the water in Saigon and everywhere else was notoriously bad. It was safe, but tasted like muddy brackish water. Bucky holds out his hand and kneels down with Steve’s canteen to get an orange kool-aid packet out of his rucksack. He rips it open with his teeth and dumps it in, recaps it, shakes the concoction and then hands it back.   
“Thanks.” Steve says with a grateful smile. It’d still taste like shit, of course. But orange flavored shit was still better than shit flavored shit. Just another helpful trick he’d learned in his first two tours. Bucky gives him a nod.  
“You bet, pal.”   
When Steve is over his initial nausea, he gets his map out and he and Bucky along with Diaz (3rd in command) and Denaldo (4th) crouch in the wet grass to look at it. Steve traces his finger along a route that will merge into the main road, but Denaldo shakes his head.   
“No way. Look. We can cross through here.” He points to the large swatch of field between the main road and Steve’s suggested route. Steve frowns. He’s not a huge fan of shortcuts in any case, but considering the options. Following roads always meant they’d be open to attack. On the other hand, wandering through brush meant they were always at risk of running headlong into a incendiary explosion. Air raids were hard enough to avoid even when you knew they were coming and even then, how far the fire would spread was always guesswork. Diaz is with the shortcut.Steve looks over at Bucky who just shrugs. Even though technically, Steve was their leader, out in the field like this, they were basically a democracy.   
“Alright.” He says as he folds up the map. “Guess we’ll cut through.”   
The closer they get to the open field they will have to cross over the uneasier Steve gets. There’s a deep sense of wrongness to it. The grass and leaves that should be wet and green are dead and dying, curling up brown. He stops just at the edge of the field and Bucky’s standing right next to him. His super senses are assaulted by the acrid smell of chemicals that hang in the air and he immediately brings up his sleeve to cover his face. He looks over at Bucky.  
“Smell that?” He asks in a muffled voice. Bucky nods. Steve turns around and hollers for everyone to cover their mouths and noses because they’re going to be walking through a chemically treated field. Everyone immediately drops their packs to tie bandanas around their faces. Technically, gas masks are standard issue, but nobody ever carries them. Not when they already have so much gear already. They begin their procession.  
They pass by a thatched roof shack and there’s a child standing outside watching them pass and Steve decides that yes, they are definitely crossing farmland. He feels even more unsettled and everything is just way too quiet. There’s a sound like rolling thunder in the distance that the entire unit turns their heads toward that direction. But without seeing smoke or fire, it was hard to tell how far off it was. On top of that, they need to make sure they go the right way to avoid it. So they press onward. It happens in a matter of minutes. The sound of the planes whining overhead is deafening and there’s a horrendous cracking sound and they can see the thick smoke rising up above the trees not far too their left. Shit. Shit.   
“Air Raid! Go back! Go back!!!” Steve yells frantically. Bucky pauses because Steve isn’t moving and Steve’s glancing over at the direction of the little farm they’d passed.   
“No!” Bucky snaps. “Steve!”   
“Go, Buck!” He yells over the noise. “Go back! I’ll be right there!” And then he takes tearing off in the wrong direction.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's secrets start to come spilling out.

Steve is running the wrong way and Bucky understands why he’s doing it. But that doesn’t mean that he isn’t angry. He’s pissed that Steve would do something so dumb and put his life at risk, regardless of how it would affect him. Steve is fast, however and he’s able to reach the small child before the flames eat up the path in front of him. That rending, cracking noise is all around him as trees explode upon being hit with the toxic chemicals, then the fragments from those trees hit other trees and brush and set off a chain reaction of explosions.  
He has to spin around so fast he nearly skids to the ground and then he’s off in the other direction. And all the while, Bucky stands with the rest of his unit at least a mile out. He keeps his breath tight in his chest as he scans the foliage for any sign of movement. Suddenly, he hears the high-pitched wailing and Steve is streaking over to them with the kid in tow and he’s yelling at them to keep going. Bucky can see why, the fire just keeps eating everything up. They have to go another couple of miles before they can stop again. Steve sets the kid down, panting for breath. It’s a little girl in a shapeless dress.  
“The...house…” He manages to get out. “Gone.” Diaz is grumbling about how stupid he’d been.  
“C’mon Cap.” he says. “What are we supposed to feed it? Anyone bring any baby formula?” He glances at the group. A lanky strawberry blonde named Rhodes puts in that, ‘It’s not a baby anyway.’ He glances over at Steve. “I got three kids.”  
“Well,l we aren’t leaving her here.” Steve says firmly over the continuing wailing.  
“Fine.” Diaz relents. “But the next house we pass. We’re droppin’ the kid.” Steve already has a mind to argue.  
“Shouldn’t we -” He starts and Bucky already knows exactly what he’s going to say and stops him.  
“No.” He finally speaks up. “I’m with Diaz. Look, we’ve only been out here for ten minutes. You wanna try and drag a kid all the way to some official authority we don’t even know we’ll find? No way.” Steve sighs.  
“Fine. Guess you’re right.”  
When they finally start walking again, having broken out the trusty map and wound their way back to the original route, Bucky and Steve get a little further ahead than everyone else.  
“That was really brave.” Bucky says and Steve is the process of saying, ‘thank you.’ except Bucky cuts him off to tell him that that was in no way a compliment and that he’s still a moron. Steve catches up with him.  
“Buck. I’m sorry. I was just tryin’ to do -”  
“What?” Bucky stops shortly. “Do the right thing? That what you call it? I call it trying to work out your personal issues. You’re not here to save people.” He says with a scowl and Steve can hardly believe this is the same guy that several months ago had been protesting against the war. Suddenly, he’s starting to understand why Bucky had had to get out so badly. For some people, the stress changes them. And it was a hell of a time for Bucky to get mad at him. And God the way Bucky’s eyes looked. Just cold.  
They return the child to the closest building they can find and Steve can’t help glancing backward. Of course, Bucky’s right. He isn’t here to save people. So why does he always feel like he is? They make it to the supply road by the late afternoon and Steve tries like hell to get Bucky to speak to him. It had seemed like such a small thing. Finally, Steve grabs Bucky’s wrist and drags him several feet away so no one will hear anything they say. Bucky tries to shake Steve lose but Steve won’t give up the grip he has.  
“What the hell? You really wanna get mad at me? Now?” He demands. He releases Bucky when he finally turns to him.  
“Yeah! I’m mad at you! I can’t stand you! Hero types. Like you’re gotta save the whole damn world!” He snaps. “This was a stupid idea! I never wanted to come back here!” Steve takes a step back.  
“I never made you.” He says. “You asked me you-”  
“Yeah? So? Like you weren’t sitting there cryin’ tellin’ me how you didn’t want to be here and that’s all bullshit isn’t it? You love this! You have to. ‘Cause this is the only thing that gives your life meaning, right? Gotta save some people. Gotta fight in wars. You - you made me feel bad about doing what I thought was right!” Bucky’s really on a roll now and here it is. Now it’s all coming out. Steve is suddenly worried that maybe everything Bucky is saying was right.  
“I didn’t...mean to.” Steve says and there’s a heavy weight on his chest because he hadn’t realized it at the time. God, he was a horrible person. Then he’s reaching for Bucky’s hands.  
“I’m so sorry! You didn’t have to!” Steve manages to get his breath in between what’s quickly becoming a near panic attack. “I should have just left it alone! I would have. You know?”. Finally, whatever fit of rage Bucky has had up until this point starts to die down.  
“Yeah. ‘Cause I - I don’t wanna be here.” He says in a hollow voice. “I just….I wanna go home.” He chews his lip. Steve starts to understand. This is how Bucky breaks. With rage. One piece at a time. Now that they were really out here, everything was sinking in. He still hasn’t broken the grip so Steve trusts himself to pull his lover a little closer.  
“I know. I wanna go home too.” He says.  
“I just wanna go home.” He repeats and his eyes are starting to get red and watery and Steve pulls him the rest of the way in and slips his arms around him.  
“It’s okay.” Steve soothes as Bucky allows himself to be held for a good ten minutes before he pulls away and scrubs at his cheeks. “Better?” he asks gently, rubbing lightly on Bucky’s shoulder and that at least makes Bucky smile a little bit.  
“Hell no. It’s not gonna be better until we’re on a plane back to New York.” He says. Steve laughs.  
“Yeah. You’re probably right.”  
They don’t even make their mission of cutting of the supply line when they are called back into Saigon to rendevouz with the rest of the 101st. Which gives Bucky and Steve a little time off. For the price of only a few American dollars, you can buy room space in one of those spots in the red light district. It wasn’t that unusual for the G.I’s to disappear to get lost there for a few hours and that’s what Bucky and Steve give the pretense of doing.  
Steve thinks how beautiful Bucky looks as he pulls his shirt over his head, the golden light of dusk falling across the rippling muscles of his back. He tries to go slowly as he pushes him down onto the bed, leaving trails of kisses across his body. But there’s a sense of urgency and desperation to it. As if both of them are trying to seek a circle of safety that they can only be found within each other. It’s over way too fast and as Steve cups his hands around Bucky’s face, looking down into dark eyes that have become lost and wild, he promises he will get him home safe. If it’s the last thing he ever does.  
Bucky’s dreams are always hazy and confusing. There’s smoke and popping gun shots. He’s lying across his stomach on a grassy hilltop higher up on a vantage point just outside the village while his unit fights below. He’s got his aim lined up perfectly, the young Vietnamese man - a boy really, standing in the middle of the crosshairs. Suddenly all sound dims low and all he can hear is his own heart thudding and his breath coming in and out in gasps. He pulls the trigger. And everything is complete chaos. There’s so much blood. And when he finally looks down, his hands are coated in red and dirt.  
This time, it’s Bucky that is awoken with a scream still on his lips. The light in the room is dim, it’s clearly just after sunset. Immediately, he is shaking so hard, he has to wrap his arms around himself to keep from falling apart. He barely registers Steve waking up and asking him what’s wrong.  
“I killed them.” He says and it’s a rasp because a moment later he’s sobbing.  
“Who, Buck?” Steve is asking, his arms wrapping around him.  
“All of them. I killed them all.” That’s the last thing he can get out as he collapses hard against Steve.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A major battle. A "minor" accident.

As the battle at Loc Ninh rages on, eventually Steve’s unit is called in to provide support. As part of a special forces operation to attack the enemy camp to draw the fighting to a close. The helicopter ride is strangely silent, everyone lost in thought.  
Bucky glances over at Steve, who is leaned far back in his seat, white-faced with his eyes squeezed shut. He vaguely remembers seeing a picture of Captain America as a kid. He’d looked so brave and courageous then. He realizes that this is definitely not the same guy from the pictures. For one, he’d been forced to trade in his red, white and blue for standard issue camo. For another, he doesn’t look brave at all. He just looks….scared.  
Steve tries to control the trembling that has taken over his entire body. He knows it’s not a good look. For him, this has never gotten any easier. The threat of loss of life looms over him. How many will he lose today? How many brothers, husbands, sons, fathers? How many will be his responsibility? How much more guilt will he have to carry after today, then the next and the next after that? He feels Bucky’s fingers wrap around his hand and he squeezes back as he feels the helicopter begin to drop.  
They have to walk a couple of miles of dense foliage and leave Bucky behind to get down and prepare himself on higher ground while Steve and the rest of the unit creep closer toward the enemy camp. Nearly ten minutes pass, until Bucky thinks he’s got a good shot lined up.  
“Captain? Permission to shoot?” He says over his walkie. Steve hesitates slightly. Everything will happen very quickly after that. “Cap?” Bucky’s voice repeats. He swallows as he reaches for his walkie.  
“Shoot.” He finally says. Then everything turns into chaos. Gunfire exploding as Steve pushes the rest of the unit forward. Steve always leads, shield first. While everyone else proceeds with M-16’s. Somewhere beside him, someone gets hit and they are so close to reaching the camp when there’s a thunderous explosion behind them. Steve looks behind him just in time to see the smoke clearing from the exact spot from where Bucky had been crouched. And then he’s just screaming,  
“Medi-Vac! Medi-Vac! We need Medi-Vac NOW!” 

 

When Bucky wakes, he has no idea where he is. But he can take a wild guess ‘cause there are a whole lot of people in army medical uniforms running around. Everything is sort of spinning and tilting and he realizes he must be horribly drugged up. When he tries to struggle to sit up, immediately a red-haired nurse comes over to him.  
“No. Don’t sit up. You need to rest.” She tells him as she gently tries to soothe him into laying back down.  
“W-where…” He stammers. He can’t seem to make words string together into a full sentence.  
“The hospital, darlin’. You’re in the hospital. You need to relax. Rest.” She says and before Bucky can even argue, there’s a sharp prick in his arm and he’s out again.  
It takes a couple more days for the battle in Loc Ninh to come to a close, with the Americans and ARVN to win back the Special Operations base only to begin to engage in more border wars. But Steve’s unit is flown back briefly to Saigon where Steve places several frantic phone calls over several days to the 18th Surgical to try to ascertain Bucky’s condition. It takes awhile, but eventually he does reach a doctor that informs him that Bucky is, “Very much alive.” and “In stable condition.”  
“But there’s something you should know.” The voice on the other end of the phone adds. “He’s...lost an arm.” Steve clenches the phone tightly and feels faint.  
“Uh. Which one?” Steve asks numbly and then immediately thinks, ‘What kind of stupid question is that? It’s his fucking arm! What difference does it make?!’  
“The left.” The unidentified doctor replies.  
“Well...can I...see him?” Steve asks.  
“Yes. Of course. He’s stable, but I must warn you, he’s been on a steady stream of morphine so he might not be coherent.” The voice says. Steve’s already nodding and hanging up, getting ready to get to Pleiku with or without permission.  
Bucky drifts and out of consciousness, lost in a haze of drugs. He only vaguely remembers his times between shots of morphine. And when he is awake, he feels the loss acutely when he starts to sweat. And when he’s asleep, he dreams of Steve. Of blonde hair and blue, blue eyes. And wonders when he’ll see Steve. When awake, he has a mildly terrifying thought that maybe Steve just doesn’t want to see him. Now that he’s...damaged. And oh yes, he knows. It hadn’t take any doctor or nurse to tell him that. He’d figured out pretty quickly that he was alive but minus one limb. He’d expected to be horrified when he’d first looked over at his shoulder and realized why it was so hard to sit up. He’d thought he’d start screaming like he’d heard some of the others in the surgical hospital do. But he didn’t. He just looked at it with a vague sort of interest. Then passed back out.  
When he wakes again, he’s not completely sure he’s awake. Because he’s staring straight into those blue eyes, but the crinkles of concern around the edges tell him that this is real. Very real.  
“Steve?” He breathes. He tries to sit up hurriedly. So fast it almost makes his head spin.  
“Hey. Yeah. It’s me.” Steve reaches over and cups his jaw. “I’m here, pal. How you feelin’?” Bucky thinks for a second.  
“Um. Okay. I guess.” Bucky swallows. “So what exactly...how…?” Steve takes a shaky breath.  
“Mortar round. Hit you dead on. You shouldn’t even have survived.” Steve says. It’s getting harder for him to breathe. “I am so...so…” He can’t even get the words out. Bucky shakes his head.  
“Stop. I’m alive. It’s okay.” He mutters. But Steve can’t stop.  
“I p-promised you.” He gasps through blurring vision. He forces himself to stop. There’s no way he has any right to cry. Not now. Not in front of Bucky. “I promised I’d get you home safe. And guess what? You get to go home. For good.” For the first time in this entire conversation, Bucky looks panicked.  
“B-but what about you?” He stammers. Steve bites his lip and shakes his head slowly.  
“You know I can’t. I have to stay.”  
“I-I don’t want...don’t want…” Bucky is stuttering through his own tears. And he knows Steve is right, of course. What use is a one-armed sniper? Or soldier? For that matter. Instead he just crumples up and lets Steve wrap his arms around him.  
“I’m not gonna lose ya, Buck.” Steve murmurs against Bucky’s good shoulder. “Always gonna be with ya. Straight to the end of the line.”


	7. Chapter 7

Brooklyn, New York 1969

 

The war rages on both in Vietnam and in the streets of New York and Steve’s letters come steadily. Sometimes once a week, depending on where his unit is. He can’t say much, in the letters. About where they are going to be or what they are doing, so his letters are mostly just filled with promises of love. Promises that, ‘This will all be over soon.’ He tells Bucky how much he misses him. At first, Bucky is vaguely amused at becoming a “military wife.” and the letters keep him going. Then the letters stop coming. And Bucky doesn’t need to ask to know why. He just waits.  
When the knock at the door comes, he’s just sitting there in the middle of the living room floor with a bottle in front of him and he thinks about not getting up at all. When he opens the door and there’s the fancied up officer standing there holding that stupid envelope, he nearly slams it. The man opens his mouth to speak, but Bucky just shakes his head.  
“Shut up. Just...just give it to me.” He says and the man instantly shuts his mouth and hands over the thick manila envelope. Bucky slams the door in his face before he can say anything else.  
He goes back to his spot on the floor. The spot he’s barely moved from for nearly a week. He uses his teeth to rip the envelope open. He doesn’t need to read the letter. He’s seen enough of them written to know exactly what it says.  
‘Captain Steven Grant Rogers. Killed in the line of duty.’ Something to that effect. Hero to the nation. Blah. Blah. Blah. Bucky reaches for the bottle and takes a swig and tips the envelope upside down. The metal tags clatter to the floor and seem to echo.  
“Till the end of the line.” He mutters before taking another swig.  
The day of the official funeral, Bucky can hardly get out of his bed. It’s only an official funeral because they don’t actually have a body to bury so it’s a matter of ceremony really. He struggles to get himself showered and dressed. Even though he’s gotten pretty good at the one-armed thing, it’s still a fight. He figures he should at least be decent. For the record, he’s not going to the official ‘funeral’ and he’s certainly not going to the Grand Procession. Nope. He’s going to sit and drink himself into a coma. He knows it’s not what Steve would have wanted. But at the moment, it’s all he can do.  
He can’t block out, however, the sound of ceremonial jets screaming overhead, try as he might. And that even more makes him picture Steve. His last moments. It makes explosions go off in his head and that’s when he finally falls apart. He knew it was coming. He just didn’t know when. Well here it was. He nearly shatters every item that he can in his apartment. And then crumples and sobs helplessly until he’s spent. He lays on his side and clutches Steve’s dog tags in his one good hand.  
“You promised.” He murmurs to no one in particular.  
It takes him another full year before Bucky can really get himself together. He gets cleaned up. Starts working pushing paper at the VA. He doesn’t date. He remembered reading once somewhere that most people only get one true love story their entire lives and James Buchanan Barnes is convinced he’s had his already. And he has his mementos. Besides Steve’s tags, which he wears every single day, he has the one good picture of them. Bucky’s standing up with his assault rifle slung across his shoulders while Steve is crouched down in front of him with his shield jutting out proudly. It had taken him quite a long time to look at it, but now he finds it soothes him. When he misses Steve the most. One afternoon while he’s staring at it, there’s a knock at the door. Hesitant at first. Then more insistent. Bucky hauls himself up slowly. He can’t help reaching for his pistol on his bedside. Old habits and all. He tucks it into his waistband while he gets to the door and still has his hand ready to reach for it. But then his good hand drops and his mouth is falling open.  
“Hey Buck.” The blonde haired hero says with a quirk of a smile on his lips. At first, Bucky’s positive he must have really lost it. But nobody calls him Buck. It has to be real.  
“Steve?” Bucky’s voice is shaking. “H-how?”  
“Uh. Do you mind if I just…” Steve reaches forward and takes the gun from Bucky. “Makin’ me a little nervous.”  
After they get over the initial, hugging and kissing and crying, Steve explains.  
“There was real bad fighting. All along the borders. An offensive. Lost a lot of men.” He says. Bucky is leaned back against Steve against his bed. “After that, they decided to switch me over to only Special Operations. They didn’t think it was worth puttin’ me in the front line anymore. It was...too much for me. So it made sense. Throw everyone off. Make ‘em think I was gone. Sorry I couldn’t tell you.” He says. He wraps an arm around Bucky’s chest.  
“I’m just glad you’re here.” Bucky murmurs, leaning back and closing his eyes. He feels Steve kiss his shoulder lightly.  
“A promise is a promise, Buck. Forever.”


End file.
